Nox World
by Feana Puddlefoot
Summary: Alastor Moody was the best Auror the Order ever had.
1. Chapter 1

Nox World  
  
This is my disclaimer. I don't own a thing.  
  
"Oi, John! There are customers over there what need serving. Get to it!"  
  
Jonathon Nott smiled at the barkeeper, stood up, and took the two mugs that were offered to him. His walk was slow. Slow, deliberate – though that could have been because he was being careful not to spill the firewhiskey in both mugs. His small, secretive smile as he set the mugs down, however, had no practical reason.  
  
"Enjoy your drinks," he offered quietly to the couple, glancing at their wands, set out on the side of the table. His glance switched to the window, then back to the couple. "Stormy weather approaching, it seems."  
  
"It was sunny earlier," the young woman pointed out, smiling.  
  
And then they were dead.  
  
The streets of Hogsmeade were patterned with muddy puddles and scorch marks from spells gone wrong, but Alastor Moody hardly noticed as he sprinted down them, occasionally stepping in a puddle or almost slipping on a scorch mark. He was familiar with the chase. And he loved it.  
  
His way was only barely lit by torches, but it was enough (had he had enough time to slow down and light his wand, he would have, but the chase, cruel mistress that it was, didn't allow that). Rounding a corner, sliding over a slippery scorch mark, he spotted the dark figure he was following slipping into the shadows of a long street. The road to Knockturn Alley. Frowning, Alastor slowed his run and padded towards the shadows. So that was how the bastard wanted to play it, was it?  
  
Alastor knew the chase all too well. Knockturn Alley was a prime escape for his victim. Every shop, every house would be willing to hide a Death Eater on the run. Every person – every being - would be willing to protect a Death Eater, on the run or not. Knockturn Alley was where the chase stopped and the fight began.  
  
Alastor quickly took his wand out of his pocket and slipped it up his sleeve. He needed it close, but he couldn't walk through Knockturn Alley with a wand out. It made one a walking target.  
  
That done, he disappeared into the shadows after his victim.  
  
Knockturn Alley came to life at night. Every single shop opened (and the hidden parts that the owners couldn't allow 'normal folk' to see were unveiled), the whores and the pickpockets came out to play. The Death Eaters drank in peace at the local pubs. And it was alive now as Alastor walked through it, taking care not to get too close to the obvious pickpockets.  
  
"Hey, sweet'eart, you got any brass on you?" a voice near his ear slurred and a moment later, he felt a tongue touch it. He stepped away quickly, to see a deathly pale whore grinning at him, displaying yellow teeth.  
  
"None of your business," he replied quickly, turning away and pacing forward again. Look for the shifty ones, he thought, glancing at the various people lining the streets. More whores, in tattered, worn dresses that had been ripped to show too much cleavage; beggars slumped against stone walls; thieves and pickpockets. No sign of Nott. Alastor cursed internally. He'd lost one too many to the tight-knit crowd in Knockturn Alley. He couldn't afford to lose anyone else.  
  
"Did you see a man pass through here?" he asked the person nearest – from the look of them, they were a pickpocket, Alastor supposed. "Tall, with greying hair?" He knew it would most likely do little good, seeing as Knockturn Alley had a closed door attitude to strangers and no help was given – but, as much as he hated to admit it, he'd lost the trail of Nott.  
  
"I didn't see nobody," the stranger slurred, bringing up one dirty sleeve and wiping his nose on it. Alastor wrinkled his nose in thinly veiled disdain and turned away wordlessly.  
  
A gleam from a otherwise ordinary window caught his eye. The window of bookshop, he realised, walking closer towards it and peering through the glass. It was dark. He could make out the outline of a desk and a chair behind it and of course, a lot of books, but the source of the gleam wasn't clear. He sighed, straightening up and turning away. It was a dead end. Probably a light reflecting off of the glass or something, he decided. He suddenly jumped, as a hand shot out from the door and clutched at him, forcing him inside the house.  
  
"Let me g--" he was cut off by a second hand around his mouth. Struggling desperately, he shoved his weight back against the person holding him, to no avail. They were too strong. He tried again, managing to slam his capturer into the wall. They didn't release their grip, tightening it painfully. He let out a strangled sound, muffled by the hand over his mouth.  
  
The sound of distant voices stilled his struggles and he cooperated as he was forced down into a chair. Concentrating so hard on the voices, he hardly noticed as his capturer uttered a spell under their breath and their wand emitted ropes, binding him to the chair.  
  
"Is he in there?"  
  
"Yes – you want to speak to him?"  
  
Alastor strained to hear more but the already quiet voices were drowned out by louder, almost barked words from his captor, who sat across from him, wand still out.  
  
"So. You're Alastor Moody."  
  
"I am," Alastor growled in return, managing a wry grin. "And who might you be, may I ask?" He took the chance to get a better look at his surroundings, noting the hauntingly familiar titles on the spines of the books – Morsmordre: A History of the Death Eaters, The Knights of Walpurgis.  
  
"My name's not important. You're an Auror, isn't that right? On the trail of Jonathan Nott, if I'm not mistaken."  
  
Alastor had a hunch that if he didn't deny this, the next words from the other man's mouth would be Avada Kedavra, but he knew that his name was well-known – and that everyone, especially those in Knockturn Alley, knew he was an Auror.  
  
"Yes."  
  
To Alastor's surprise, the face of his captor lit up. They stood up, murmuring the counter spell – Alastor flinched as the ropes turned to dust around him, and rubbed at his sore wrist - and held out their hand for him to shake.  
  
"Then I need your help, sir." 


	2. Chapter 2

"That was dangerous. You could have been killed!"  
  
The girl smiled weakly. "I know. But better me than my brother. I'd do anything to protect him," she added, her smile fading. Moody found himself almost disappointed - she was pretty when she smiled. Not in the classical sense, he reminded himself, glancing at her ginger hair (almost Weasley, he thought, grinning slightly) and the way her lips were just a bit too big and her skin a bit too pale.  
  
"Whereabouts is he, then?" Alastor asked, glancing down the hallway they'd stopped at. This shop - house? - seemed big, he reflected soberly. If she didn't know exactly where this brother of hers was, this could take a while.  
  
"Well, I saw them take him down this way and then through the door right at the end," the girl said helpfully. "That was after they grabbed him from the street - they seemed to know him by sight - and I followed, disguising myself."  
  
"Why's this brother so important to them, anyway?" Alastor said, taking a torch off the wall and leading the way down the hallway.  
  
"Information," the girl - woman, Alastor reminded himself mentally, frowning - supplied. "He knows something about Jonathan Nott that they don't want anyone else to find out, you see."  
  
"And what would that be?"  
  
The woman sighed, stopping and leaning against the wall. "It's complicated. We - that is, him and I - were at our house, when two men knocked on the door. They were quite dark, tall... well, we didn't recognise them, but they seemed to recognise my brother. Actually, they thought he was my father, I think, because they called him Marcus - that's my father's name - and they told us that," she paused, wrinkling her nose, "the couple's loyalty would be proven tonight."  
  
"The couple's loyalty? Who is this couple?" Alastor asked, leaning beside her, after glancing around quickly for any sign of these men the woman mentioned. "And who is this loyalty to?"  
  
The woman bit her lip, frowning. "Well, I don't know. They just said that they'd ask the couple a question or say a statement or something and if they were loyal, they'd give the right answer. I know the statement, if that helps, but it doesn't make a lot of sense."  
  
"Go on," Alastor replied, nodding.  
  
"They said they'd say, 'looks like stormy weather approaching' and if they couple were loyal, they'd reply, 'yes, it looks--'"  
  
"Like rain," Alastor finished in a deadpan voice. "That's so cliché."  
  
The woman seemed a little stunned, for she said nothing, blinking and staring at Alastor with wide eyes. There was silence while she glanced nervously down the hallway, then back at Alastor, who simply stared at her grimly.  
  
He debated telling her that the couple gave the wrong answer, but decided against it. He had no way of telling if this woman wasn't just tricking him, after all. Raising an eyebrow, he said, "Shall we continue, then?"  
  
The woman nodded.  
  
Once they reached the door, the woman put her hand out to open it, but Alastor slapped it away.  
  
"Don't," he hissed. "There could be someone in there. Listen, first." With that, he put his ear against the door, listening intently. A myriad of expressions crossed his face - interest, doubt, puzzlement - and finally, he stepped away. "Alright, it's safe."  
  
"You're sure?" she whispered back, and he noticed her hand had found its way to his arm, and she was clinging as if for her life.  
  
He forced himself to sound gentle for once, and replied, "Yes, it's safe. I'll go in first."  
  
To his surprise, the door was unlocked. That was unusual, to say the least. Too many times, he'd had to use some of the most complicated unlocking spells he knew to get into rooms.  
  
However, the reason there was no need for the door to be locked appeared as soon as he peered into the room.  
  
It was a veritable maze.  
  
Alastor stared, astonished, at what seemed to be over fifty different passages, each fading into darkness. The woman followed him into the room and stood, presumably as amazed, silent beside him.  
  
"We're never going to find him, are we?" she said finally, quietly. Alastor looked at her, defeated for a moment. He contemplated shaking his head and answering that no, they weren't, when a small detail caught his eye.  
  
Near what Alastor approximated was the seventh door laid a small button. He bent down, picking it up and turning it over in his hand. He looked up at the woman. "Do you recognise this?"  
  
She took it from him, squinting at it. "I don't know. It's dark green - and my brother was wearing a green robe when they took him but other than that, I have no idea. Sorry. I'm not much help." She smiled apologetically.  
  
Alastor disagreed. She'd helped him escape from the mess of being caught by the Death Eaters - although, he remembered, it was actually her that caught him in the first place. She seemed to have a habit of getting him into trouble so she could get him out of it. He turned to face the seventh doorway.  
  
"I suppose we go down here and see what we find," he said, shrugging and pushing open the door.  
  
Darkness.  
  
When Alastor awoke, the extremely irritated face of Minerva McGonagall was staring down at him. He sighed and tried to sit up, only for her to push him roughly back down.  
  
"Min, I never knew you cared," he said, smirking at her. She frowned, perching on the edge of the bed.  
  
"You were attacked by Jonathon Nott and a few friends of his. You and a redhead female who is currently still unconscious. Don't call me Min," she added as an afterthought.  
  
Alastor furrowed his eyebrows at her. "Look, that redhead told me some pretty interesting information about Nott. Apparently he--" he cut off, suddenly. "What's wrong with calling you Min, anyway?" He ignored Minerva's death glare.  
  
"You hate it when people call you Tor, I hate it when people call me Min. My name's Minerva, so use it," she said briskly. "What's this interesting information, then?"  
  
Alastor sat up now, pushing her hand away when she tried to force him back down. "She said two men stopped off at her house, mistook her brother for her dad, and said that some couple's loyalty would be tested tonight, and that they had to give the right answer to the statement, 'looks like stormy weather approaching'--"  
  
"Yes, it may even rain," Minerva replied automatically, rolling her eyes.  
  
"I know," Alastor said, nodding. "But apparently this couple didn't, because Nott killed them after they gave the wrong answer."  
  
"How odd," Minerva remarked, standing up to sit down on a nearby chair. "This girl heard the entire conversation between her brother and these men? They let her listen or did she eavesdrop?"  
  
Alastor blinked. "She didn't say. I didn't think to ask."  
  
"Awfully careless with details sometimes. I suggest you ask her when she wakes up," Minerva said, frowning at him.  
  
"Alright, alright," Alastor said, waving his hand at her dismissively.  
  
"Just be careful, alright? One of these days someone's eye is going to get poked out." 


	3. Chapter 3

The redheaded female was still fast asleep, Minerva found upon returning to the room opposite Alastor's. It was a fairly bare, neglected little room, walls coloured plain magnolia, no curtains blocking out the light from the window. Minerva had never bothered to decorate it.  
  
She moved closer to the female and glanced at the bag beside her. The girl had been found with that same bag across her chest, and upon further inspection, Minerva found two things in it: a ball of string and a small card. Minerva put the ball of string on the table and looked more closely at the card. It read: Frey Montgomery, Private Eye. Minerva couldn't help the broad smirk that spread across her face. So she was a detective, was she? Minerva didn't doubt for a second that that little tale about her brother was entirely fabricated. She shook her head in mild amusement.  
  
Alastor had left as soon as Minerva had let him, presumably to go and bully a few people in Knockturn Alley into giving him information on what they'd seen. Minerva personally thought it was a ridiculous idea. He knew the Knockturn Alley people as well as she did – stubborn as mules, every one of them. Still, she thought ruefully, it wasn't as if Alastor wasn't stubborn as well.  
  
Minerva was far more focused on things that might benefit the problem though, instead of questioning people very unlikely to tell her anything. She crossed the room to a small cabinet in the corner and took out a few sheets of paper, reading "Jonathon Nott" at the top. Solid information. She grimaced at the first sheet, and the photograph clipped to it. Nott had been a fellow student at Hogwarts with her, a strange one. A loner, she supposed. He hadn't been a very sociable person, she knew that much.  
  
He seemed just as imposing now as he had then, she decided, looking at the fierce eyes staring at her from the photograph and the sneer that slowly crept on to his face.  
  
She heard a noise, sounding like a sigh or a yawn, and looked over to Freya, who had opened her eyes and was attempting to sit up.  
  
"Awake at last," Minerva said dryly.  
  
"Where am I?" Freya said, blinking blearily and looking around at her surroundings, eyes eventually coming back to rest on Minerva. Minerva debated telling her anything about the Order of the Phoenix and decided firmly against it.  
  
"You were knocked unconscious while looking for your brother," Minerva raised an eyebrow, "in Knockturn Alley."  
  
"Oh yes," Freya replied pleasantly. "Where am I?" she repeated.  
  
"You're in my house," she replied, praying that her tongue didn't turn black. "I'm Minerva McGonagall – and you'd be Freya Montgomery, would you not?" She couldn't resist a sly smirk.  
  
Freya took a deep breath. "How do you know my name?"  
  
Minerva produced Freya's card with a flourish.  
  
Freya sighed. "I see." She paused. "May I have that back, please?"  
  
"Not yet, no," Minerva replied. "This story you fed Alastor about your poor little brother – was that true? Be honest," she added, surveying Freya with a sharp eye.  
  
Freya pursed her lips. "Well... my brother wasn't kidnapped – I don't even have a brother - but the client who came to me did have a little brother who actually had been kidnapped. I was investigating for her."  
  
Minerva raised an eyebrow, standing up. "And what's the name of this client?"  
  
"I'm afraid I can't tell you."  
  
"I'm afraid I'm going to make you, Miss Looks-like-it-might-rain," Minerva snapped. "You can tell me or I can use a handy spell that I learnt---"  
  
"Alright, alright!" Freya cut in quickly, holding up her hands in mock defence. "If you must know, her name is Luna Lovegood. I don't see how that'll help you though."  
  
Minerva mentally noted down the name and passed Freya back her card. "Thank you. I'll leave you be now – don't leave this room."  
  
Minerva heard Freya give a heartfelt sigh as she left the room and smiled a little.  
  
"A what?"  
  
"A private detective, Alastor. She was lying about her brother as well. Apparently the client she was helping had the brother and so on."  
  
Alastor was silent for a few minutes, while he downed some of his firewhiskey. Minerva looked at him in obvious distaste.  
  
"I wish you wouldn't do that," she said as he put the mug down. "You should sip it, not gulp it down like you're going to drop dead if you don't have it." She rolled her eyes, and glanced at a few of the other people in the Three Broomsticks.  
  
"We can't all be as perfect as you, Minnie," Alastor said, grinning. "Anyway – this client of hers. Did you get the name or address or anything like that? We should talk to her."  
  
"Of course I did," Minerva replied sharply. "I'm not an idiot. Yes, her name is Luna Lovegood. It took me a lot of threatening just to get the name out of her, let alone the address."  
  
"Great. So we'll go and see Miss Lovegood and get the full story from her."  
  
Minerva shook her head. "There could be a million Lovegoods in Hogsmeade alone, Alastor. We can't just go knocking on doors until we get the right one."  
  
Alastor sighed, growling in irritation. "So what do you propose we do then? Neither of us is psychic."  
  
"We follow the detective, of course." Minerva smirked.  
  
Alastor returned the smirk.  
  
"Good idea." 


End file.
